


The Lies We Tell Ourselves

by Shattered_worth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Snape, Angst, Character Deaths, Curses, Dread, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gentle Snape, Hate, Hiding, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love, Pain, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Protective, Quiet suffering, Secrets, Sex, Silence, Slow Burn, Smut, Suffering, Underage Sex, Understanding Snape, spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shattered_worth/pseuds/Shattered_worth
Summary: She never thought she’d see him again—She hoped she never would. Her father, banished to Azkaban, somehow manages to escape when Sirius Black broke out of the prison. Now on the hunt, with a fierce determination to get his daughter back, Abigor Hellstrand will stop at nothing to wrench her from safety and drag her home. When the reasons for Alyssa’s terror are revealed, Snape somehow finds himself caught in the middle.WARNING: Some elements of this fic are quite dark. If you are triggered by violence, non-con, rape, abuse, or parental manipulation, I would advise you not to read this. While there are many chapters that will not focus on this, it is a prevalent, important theme throughout this story.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	1. Escape

There was a type of silence at Hogwarts that soothed her soul. It settled over her like a precious veil, concealing her from the rest of the world and blurring her vision just enough to let her block everything else out. She imagined that there would never be another place like it. The castle brimming with the life and joy of students, the Black Lake playing its steady song against the banks, and the forest moving with the wind, bowing down to the breezy demands of nature. She didn’t want to be anywhere else. She couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, and yet she was. 

Her mind whirled with about a million different thoughts all at once, and the most prevalent was that she wanted to be back at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had owled her the night of the escape, warning her that her father might come searching for her. Given that she spent a large amount of her time staying with the Weasleys over holiday, she was afraid that they, too, would become a target. It worried her greatly, and the sooner she could get back, the sooner they would be out of danger.

“Alyssa? Alyssa? Are you all right, dear?” Molly inquired, peering at her from behind her cup.

The younger witch nodded, shaking her head to dispel her thoughts.

“I’m fine, Molly, thank you,” she said softly, looking back down at her nails.

They were sitting at a table in the downstairs restaurant area, if it could even be called that, of the Leaky Cauldron. They had been there for a day or so in Diagon Alley, collecting their things and just doing a few last minute errands. Part of it was for safety. The inn wouldn’t be as easily attacked as The Burrow.

For all intents and purposes, Molly and Arthur became her legal guardians after her father was arrested four years ago. She’d just turned eleven when Alastor Moody broke into their home, arrested her father, and towed him off to Azkaban. She hadn’t had any other family left to take her in, and after her father’s trial, which she had no choice but to attend, Arthur Weasley had discovered her. He’d taken pity on her, and after he had told Molly, there had been no question about who would take her in. She was in the same year as the twins, only her birthday fell early so she was a few months older than them. Regardless, of how she’d happened upon them, she was grateful for the whole family. They’d always managed to make her feel safe and cared for, even if they weren’t blood.

When they got to the inn, Harry had already been there for a bout a week, but Hermione had arrived the day before. Even though she was a few years older than them, she’d grown fond of the trio and spent a great deal of time with them. Age had never been all that important to her, which is why she had no problems making close friends with Fred and George or with Harry and Hermione or even Ginny.

“We’ll be back at Hogwarts soon,” Hermione offered, “He won’t be able to get to the school.” 

The young witch oozed a quiet confidence, but through her mask, Alyssa could see Hermione’s resolve begin to thin. She offered words of comfort, but they held little truth. 

Alyssa had sat across from her with a cup of tea in hand. Hermione reminded her vaguely of Molly with her mother-like tendencies. She nodded, but she already knew that she would be safer at school. If for no other reason than the fact that there would be professors and secret passageways and impenetrable common rooms with which she would reside in. Hogwarts was _safer._ But was it safe? She wasn’t so sure. Voldemort had gotten through by means of Professor Quirrell, and he used a diary to reopen the chamber and release a basilisk that petrified people, students and ghosts alike. Would this year be any different, any safer?

“When was the last time you saw him?” Harry asked, equally concerned about Sirius.

Harry and Hermione weren’t there from the beginning, so they had no way of knowing why she was scared or what had happened with her father. She’d begged for Molly and Arthur to not tell the others, so aside from her guardians, none of the Weasleys knew anything about the situation. Molly and Arthur didn’t even know the whole truth. As far as she was concerned, they never would. Aside from that, the records were sealed, so they truly had no way to ever find out. Not unless he found her, or she told them.

All they knew was that he had done some terrible things and was taken to Azkaban. They had never wanted to push her for answers, but she knew they probably had some ideas about why she was scared of him.

“The trial,” she mumbled, swirling a spoon around in her mug, “I was eleven.”

She was sixteen now, older and wiser than most students in her year—stronger, too. She just prayed she was stronger than _him_.

“Well, doesn’t a part of you want to see him again? I mean, he is your dad and all,” Ron inquired quietly.

Her blood ran cold at the thought, and from the corner of her eye, she could see Hermione swatting Ron’s shoulder and fixing him with a reproving glare. 

“No,” she said with finality, “I want him dead.”

_______

That night, she’d hardly gotten any sleep. She, Ginny, and Hermione shared a room, as they often did, and though she tried to keep quiet so as not to bother them, she tossed and turned all night. She just had to make it to Hogwarts, she told herself.

In the morning, she packed her things away quickly and quietly. She was the first to wake up and she didn’t want to disturb them so she dressed in the bathroom and went downstairs for an early breakfast. Her stomach was churning and she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat much, so she settled on a small muffin, sitting down at the table with a heavy sigh.

“You, too?” Harry asked, glancing over at her.

He was still in his night clothes, but then again, it was four in the morning. She couldn’t fault him for that. She tilted her head and nodded.

“Nerves, I suppose,” she said quietly.

He sat down opposite of her after collecting a muffin for himself. She unwrapped hers but just picked at it. The thought of eating anything made her nauseous.

“Surely he can’t— _they_ can’t get into Hogwarts,” Harry justified, taking a bite of his.

“I won’t lie to you, Harry. I would think not, but…my father is a clever man. If there is a way, he _will_ find it. I don’t know enough about Sirius to make assumptions about his abilities, but I would not consider yourself completely out of harm’s way simply because you are at Hogwarts. As you’ve seen before, the school is not a perfect refuge,” she told him truthfully.

“Thank you,” he said after a lapse in silence.

“What for?” She inquired curiously.

“For being honest with me—for not trying to protect me by withholding the truth.”

She smiled slightly at him and tossed her muffin into the bin.

“I was kept in the dark for most of my life and all it did was hurt me more…Tea?”


	2. The Hogwarts Express

After they’d gathered all of the supplies they would need for the year, which took hours considering there were students in three different age groups, they finally made it to the train. Alyssa watched fondly as Molly and Arthur hugged all their children, kissing them on the cheeks. Even Harry and Hermione were dragged into affectionate hugs and doted on.

Molly hesitated when she reached Alyssa. They knew she was averse to touch. It made her sick to have someone’s hands on her, the feeling of their breath, the softness or roughness of their skin. She abhorred it because of her past, and when she’d moved in with the Weasley’s they discovered just that after she had a panic attack when Molly hugged her. It just brought about too many horrid memories that she would’ve much preferred to never remember. It had probably been discussed at great length with their family, and she assumed Ron had told his two friends when he’d introduced them because they respected her space just as much. Even after over five years of being free from her father’s grasp, she still couldn’t bear it.

“Be safe, dear? Write to us, won’t you?” She said with a warm smile, hoping the girl would let her draw her in.

Alyssa wanted to offer out her hands, but thought better of it. She could already feel the back of her throat burning.

“Of course, Molly, thank you,” she said, returning her loving smile.

Arthur, though he held a special place in her heart, was a little harder for her to stomach. His lanky figure reminded her of her father, and she did well to hide that disdain from him. He nodded at her in agreement with Molly.

When they boarded the train, she followed Fred and George into a compartment. She did have friends of her own, but because of her past it just felt exponentially more difficult to form real friendships. She didn’t have the patience or the strength to explain why she didn’t like to be touched, nor did she have the ability to just actively converse happily for hours. Fred and George seemed to understand her pretty well though, and they did what they could to make her laugh.

They took out their sandwiches before departing and quickly chowed down on them. Alyssa ate hers idly, careful not to make a mess. She hated being dirty, though part of that was her father’s fault.

“Come on, Alyssa,” Fred teased.

“Yup, bottom’s up. When we start moving, we’ll have a whole lot of clients coming in to collect their purchases.”

She frowned, “What, did you take orders over the holiday?”

“Yes,” George grinned, opening his shoulder bag that he stored above them.

He drew out a shrunken sachet and winked at her, making her roll her eyes. She wasn’t in the least bit surprised. They talked and laughed for the first thirty minutes of the ride, from there on out, they were busy passing out pranks and different candies.

When they were nearly to the castle, the lights flickered off in their compartment. Alyssa frowned and reached up to tinker with the switch.

“I think it’s the whole train,” Fred mumbled, sliding open their compartment door to look in the narrow hall.

Dread slowly started to fill her belly as she looked out the window only to realize they were slowing down.

“What’s happening?” She asked quietly, watching their surroundings through the window.

It was dark outside, dreary and grey. She looked over to the twins for reassurance, but they both shrugged in unison. George must have sensed her worry because he reached out with his hand and then paused, drawing back. The train shrieked on the tracks as the brakes drew them to a stop finally.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe just a loss of power. I imagine the engineer is fiddling with the charms.”

She nodded,” You’re probably right.”

At least she hoped so. But then the glass was icing over and horror filled her stomach. She eased her wand from her pocket and prepared herself for a battle, for her father.

“Bloody hell, it’s cold. What in the devil is going on out there,” Fred said, leaning back to get a better look through the window.

A ghost of a cloaked figure moved swiftly past their compartment door, but there was no noise as it clouded over with ice as well.

“Was that Snape?” George inquired.

“What, on the train? I’d say not,” Fred dismissed.

“I just saw a swirl of dark cloaks. Thought it was him,” George shrugged.

Alyssa had drawn her knees up onto the bench with her, swallowing as she pointed her wand at the compartment door. There was an eerie sound, like a garbled breath at the compartment door and she stopped breathing, watching with carefully shrouded terror as a long, bony hand set itself on the glass of their compartment. It’s spindly fingers dragged it back, and even through the haze of ice she could make out the cloaks hovering over the large gaunt figure.

“Dementor,” she whispered, seeing the creature now in its full capacity.

She leaned back against the glass and tried to focus only on depressing thoughts. They were drawn to darkness, but they sought to diminish any light. If she kept herself shrouded, it might leave them alone. Fred hissed fearfully and drew his wand, though he froze at the realization that he couldn’t cast a Patronus charm, not yet at least.

The dementor seemed drawn to her, perhaps detecting her father’s blood coursing through her veins, and then she felt it. At first it was like a caress of her cheek, cold and firm, pressing against her like a cube of ice. It pierced through her cheek where it rested, that cold feeling crawling over her entire face and thrusting into her eyes. It felt violent, angry. The dementor perused her mind, searching for any idea as to where her father might have gone. She felt it closing in on her, drawing her closer and bleeding her of all sense of happiness, not that there was much for it to take.

Memories flashed behind her eyes so quickly that she could hardly grab onto them. She could hear her screams echoing loudly in her ears, a never-ending ringing that pulsed through every harsh beat of her heart in her eardrums. She was trembling as if she’d been shot with the Cruciatus curse. Her body ached and stumbled through the pain, fighting to rebalance herself and shut her mind off like she’d grown so accustomed to doing.

Her father’s face whirled forward through her mind, remnants of his wicked eyes and gleaming smirk as he tore through her with spell after spell. She was shrinking back, trying to get away.

In the distance, she heard shouting. She blankly registered it as Fred and George yelling for help, but she felt nothing except cold, deft fingers wrapping around in her mind, squeezing it for more information, draining her physically, mentally, magically. Her wand clattered to the ground as she felt herself succumbing to the darkness, allowing it to drown her. She vaguely heard her conscience screaming at her to fight back, to press on and battle the dementor claiming her. Bone-rattling pain shook her to her core, tossing her back into the abyss of her memories, straight into her father’s basement. She finally felt her psyche stir, lifting her up out of the sea of memories and fighting to get up above the waves. Every twist and turn and attempt to get up and out of the water snatched her back in like Devil’s Snare.

She felt the suffocating grip of her father’s hand on her neck, the other snatching at her clothes. He yelled the commands, forcing her to submit and shift to his will despite her every cry for him to stop. The pain of his nails in her shoulder, the look of lust in his eyes. It was overwhelming her. She was breathing sharply, panting and trying to get away. Her body jerked roughly against the burning sensation and she cried out, begging her mind to shut off so that the pain dulled to nothingness like it had always done.

She was having a panic attack, her mind reeling too fast for her body to catch up or make sense of things. And then suddenly that defeating roar in her ears, the pain crawling up her skin and kicking at her muscles—it all vanished, replaced by a vivid white light.

She slumped back against the window, eyes glazed with tears and heart thumping wildly in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. It felt like all of the oxygen was being suctioned from her throat, burning her chest with a vice-like grip. George and Fred were talking but all could she could hear was a loud ringing, blocking out any sounds even though she could see their mouths moving. Her hearing phased in and out; her vision was crackling, sparking little blobs of color in her peripheral before disappearing all together.

“No, don’t! Stop,” Fred and George seemed to demand at the same time.

In the next instance she wasn’t on the train anymore. She was standing in Hogsmeade being pressed gently down the wall until she was crouched with her head pressed between her knees. She barely registered the hands on her, too preoccupied with her thoughts and her breathing. The man knelt down in front of her after casting a patronus in the direction of the school. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t make herself breathe because his proximity was scaring her. She was alone with him, pressed in the corner of a wall as he spoke to her—his voice falling on deaf ears as he tried to calm her, touching her shoulder. It was too familiar. 

Her eyes were screwed shut, trying to fight all of her thoughts and feelings. She didn’t have her wand anymore, as it was discarded on the floor of her compartment, and worry blossomed in her belly. She had no means of protecting herself now, and her mind was flooded with memories of her father. She was sobbing harshly into her knees, her breath coming in ragged pants as this strange man kept rubbing her arms, trying to calm her down. Chills kept erupting down her body, alerting her to the sensation and dragging her into what felt like a vat of acid. She couldn’t catch her breath; she couldn’t push him away. She was too frightened to move or speak and even if she wasn’t, she was certain she couldn’t. She lurched over her knees, the dizziness of apparition finally catching up to her as she vomited on the ground, still hyperventilating. She felt horrible.

“It’s okay, just breathe. Calm down, you’re safe now. Just take a deep breath and focus on me,” he said, rubbing her arms.

She sobbed harder, pushing herself further into the wall.

“Get away from her, now, Lupin,” a familiar voice hissed.

She was trying to piece things together in her mind, and she narrowly deduced that it was Snape. The painful cramping of her chest eased slightly at the though of him being there. He would keep her safe, of that she was certain, but she still couldn’t catch her breath.

“Severus, she was attacked by a dementor and she’s having an attack of sorts—“ The man said, gripping her shoulders. 

“Step away from the girl, now,” Snape snapped irritably.

She slumped forward, her body reeling and overflowing with everything else tumbling around in her mind. Memories poked out at her, taunting her, and she fought to press them into the back of her mind. The worst memories she swatted away quickly, struggling to bury them into the hole they rose out of as quickly as she could. Her body felt like it was set ablaze and then hosed down with glacial water. She was trembling violently and fighting the urge to vomit again. The man’s hands rolled down her arms and she lurched back, smacking her head into the brick. Snape was finally near them. she heard his footsteps pound into the cobblestone just a short distance away.

“Understandably,” he snapped, wrenching the man’s hand off of her arm. “It’s Hellstrand. If you’ve paid any mind at all to the news, Remus, you would know why.”

Her thoughts were swirling, drawing her into madness as she tried to break free of her own mind. She was muttering to herself, trying to get him out of her head.

“I didn’t know,” the man, Lupin, said.

“Please don’t—I won’t—I can’t—make it stop, make it stop, make it stop,” she muttered, rocking back and forth, painfully rubbing her head against the bricks.

“Miss Hellstrand, you need to breathe,” Snape said quietly in his commanding tone.

He was kneeling down in front of her, watching her try to sort through her thoughts.

She was still rocking, fighting for breath desperately.

“I’m going to enter your mind to help quell your thoughts, all right?” he inquired darkly.

His cold stoic voice comforted her slightly because she knew he was safe. With him. He was a safe place. She nodded frantically, and forced her eyes up. Her black eyes met his, staring at him even as she shivered and trembled.

Snape wasn’t particularly kind, but the kind of person he was seemed clear to her from the moment she first met him. He was stern and annoyed constantly, but he’d never been violent towards her. He’d never shown the slightest bit of interest in harming her or making her feel vulnerable. Her father had a charismatic flare about him. Everyone adored him and no one saw the monster he truly was. No one but her. 

In a split second he was in her head. She could feel the slight protrusion which she found to be drastically different from that of the dementor’s. In the moment, she didn’t care what he saw as long as he could find a way to make it stop racing. As he sorted through her memory of the dementor, she was able to quickly force some of her secrets to the back of her mind, and he made no move to follow her there, knowing she probably had much she didn’t want him to see. He pressed her thoughts back to where they came from, neatly sweeping them through the doors they belonged behind. Her breathing started to even out despite the fact that she caught a glimpse of what he was seeing. It wasn’t too much, just a brief memory of her father cursing her or beating her—nothing too traumatic, at least not in her eyes.

When he finally pulled out, she set her head on her knees, tiredly wiping the tears from her face. He stood up and walked over to Remus to speak with him. 

“I had no idea that that was Hellstrand. She looks nothing like him,” the man said to her Potions Master.

He left her to calm down, sort through her feelings and let the tremors subside, and for that she was grateful.

“No, she does not,” Snape admitted, glancing back over at her.

“She has a unique disinclination to physical touch. Regardless of what is happening, no one, under any circumstances may touch her, with hands or otherwise. It induces attacks like the one you just witnessed.”

“Oh,” Remus said sadly, looking over at her.

Snape’s boots thudded heavily on the cobblestone as he walked back over to her, assessing her silently as she managed to stand up. She wouldn’t look at him, but she often couldn’t—not in the eyes. Especially not after he’d seen what he’d seen.

“My wand is still on the train, professor,” she said softly, brushing her dark hair back behind her ears.

It was a tangled mess by that point, but she wasn’t concerned about that in the least. She was glancing around worriedly, having finally realized how exposed she was. How vulnerably open she was to attacks. 

“We’ll get you back to the castle and I’ll have someone fetch your wand,” he told her, gesturing for her to go.

She walked up the hill, nervously past the other man who was obviously familiar with Snape.

“I apologize for before,” he started, glancing over at her.

She nodded, taking a shaky breath in,” You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known. I can’t fault you for that when you were just trying to help.”

Snape swept past them, staying a few steps ahead of them. He was looking around as well, watching for anything out of place, looking for any sign of trouble. Just before they reached the school, she could hear the distant roar of the train.

She took a breath, still somewhat frazzled, and now anxious about being the first person back to school. The two wizards walked towards the Great Hall, and upon realizing she wasn’t following them, Lupin turned around and shot her a look.

“I’m going to wait for my friends…just to let them know I’m okay,” she explained.

Lupin nodded curtly and caught up with Professor Snape who was already summoning a house elf. She sighed and leaned back against the wall. 


	3. The Welcome Ceremony

“Blimey, Alyssa,” Fred sighed, running up to her with his twin in tow.

She offered a small smile as George held her wand out to her. She wrapped her fingers around it and slipped it into the waistband of her skirt.

“One minute you’re on the train in the midst of a panic attack, and the next you’re gone. We—“

“Told Lupin not to touch you,” He and George said in unison.

“I know. I heard you, I just couldn’t…react. I’m fine though,” she assured them.

“Come on,” George ordered, “sit with us tonight.”

She frowned. Students weren’t allowed to sit anywhere other than their house table on the opening night, mostly because it might’ve confused the first years for the sorting ceremony.

“I can’t. You know that, but I’ll come sit with you after dinner…in the Astronomy Tower?”

“Oh,” Fred said suggestively, and she rolled her eyes.

“Never mind.”

“Ah, no, I’m just teasing, little witch. We’ll meet you there,” they nodded.

They filed into the Great Hall together, and she walked in front of them to get to the Ravenclaw table. She spotted one of her Ravenclaw friends, the girl she usually roomed with and smiled when she sat down beside her. Lucy shot her a worried glance and turned to face her, ignoring Andromeda, the girl she’d been conversing with.

“Are you all right?”

Alyssa sighed and then nodded, noticing for the first time that many students were glancing over at her. Though her father’s escape wasn’t as heavily advertised as Black’s, it was still quite prevalent in the news.

“I’ll be better once they catch him,” she admitted, “but I’m all right.”

“Well, no—I mean, yes I was worried about that, too, but—what happened on the train? They said there was dementor attack on two students and I heard your name. Someone said—Dean, I think—that you were escorted off.”

Alyssa briefly admired her friend’s swirling honey-brown, almond shaped eyes and her lips pursed in thought.

“I was attacked. I, erm,” she paused, noticing the silence that befell their table as students turned to listen worriedly.

“Lupin, I assume a new professor—“

“DADA professor,” Luna supplied, a small reassuring smile on her lips.

Alyssa nodded.

“He, erm, apparated me to Hogsmeade. Panic Attack,” she surmised briefly.

“But, you’re fine?”

“Yeah, I’m all right. It was just frightening, and a bit painful.”

“Students, settle down please,” Dumbledore said from behind the podium.

She gave him her full attention, grateful that her peers weren’t nearly so focused on her anymore as he began speaking.

“Two weeks ago, two prisoners managed to escape Azkaban. The dementor’s, at the request of the Ministry, have been stationed at every entrance of Hogwarts. Usually, they will not approach you…” He trailed off, glancing at her and then to the Gryffindor table.

She followed his gaze and her eyes widened upon realizing that his glare was on Harry.

“Still, a word of caution…Dementors will not stop if you are in the way of their target. They are not permitted on the grounds of Hogwarts, so please do not venture far, and certainly not alone. With that being said, we have a new group of first years here to be sorted. Have a great year!”

Everyone applauded loudly, but she was searching the Gryffindor table for Harry again. He also seemed concerned for Alyssa because when she looked over, he was staring back. They offered small smiles to each other and nodded in acknowledgement as the first years entered, escorted by McGonagall.

Alyssa hardly paid any mind to it. She didn’t know anyone else who was being sorted, as Ginny was only a year beneath Harry and was sorted into the Gryffindor house. She zoned out throughout it, clapping only when everyone else did, trying not to wince at the loud sound. She still didn’t care for a lot of noise. When they finished dinner, Alyssa promised Lucy and Luna, her roommates for the term, that she would be up shortly. She didn’t tell them where she was going, but she didn’t need to. Lucy and Luna were fairly certain she just wanted a few minutes to herself.

She caught up to Fred and George and told them that she’d meet them, but she really needed to talk to Harry so she managed to catch his attention as he was walking out. Ron and Hermione stopped with him, just outside the Great Hall.

“Are you all right?” She asked him.

“Are you all right?” He retorted, looking her over.

“We heard you were escorted off the train. Fred and George were worried sick, and they came running to our cabin to tell us what happened,” Hermione said, a concerned expression drawn tautly against her face.

“Yes, I’m…I’m fine. I had an anxiety attack and couldn’t catch my breath,” she told them, glancing around at the few remaining students who meandered behind the prefects.

“Alyssa, did you hear…a scream? A woman’s scream?” Harry asked tentatively.

She bit her lip as she stared at him, trying to decide how best to phrase it.

“Dementors draw on your most painful memories, Harry. They draw them all to the forefront of your mind, even if you yourself do not remember it happening. It’s very possible you heard screaming…but it would’ve been something you’d heard before.”

He stared down and then glanced over at Hermione, his jaw clenched. “My parents, the night they died.”

She and Hermione both smiled apologetically at him.

“Was yours your father?” Harry asked gently.

She opened her mouth, hesitating, but slowly she nodded. “Yes, it was.”

“Did the dementor find anything? It felt like he was searching through my memories,” Harry pressed.

She shook her head tightly. “No, unfortunately. My father didn’t speak much to me…at least not about his plans or anything outside of…what he did to me.”

It was the closest she’d ever come to talking about her father’s actions. Ron and his brothers had seen all the bruises and scratches on her when she’d arrived to their home, so it wasn’t a far jump to deduce that he abused her. She’d just never admitted it.

After a few moments, she told them goodnight and walked alone to the Astronomy Tower. Fred and George were there, sitting against the wall, staring out at the night sky and the shroud of dementors just on the opposite side of the Lake.

“Hey,” she greeted them softly, turning to rest against the wall just beside them.

“Hello,” Fred and George responded, looking her over as she closed her eyes.

“Get it out, then. What’s bothering you,” Fred intoned.

She swallowed and then glanced over at them nervously.

“I saw him.”

Her voice was soft and faint, even more so over the breeze that ghosted through the open corridor.

“What do you mean?” George inquired worriedly.

“I haven’t…not since the day Moody collected him. I couldn’t remember his face very well, just his stature and outline, I suppose. But tonight, when that dementor attacked me…I saw his eyes. I don’t know why but it felt recent. It felt like I’d seen him only days ago and somehow don’t remember. That, or he somehow pressed an image of himself into my mind without me knowing. Like…like he somehow had learned legilimency, and how to do it from afar. It was a sign. He’s coming for me,” she said lowly, looking around.

“It’s nearly curfew,” a dark voice drawled in the distance.

She jumped at the noise, and looked up at Snape who was standing towards the back of the corridor, his cloak wrapped tightly around him as he clasped his arms threateningly over his chest. His brow was lifted in annoyance, silently informing the Weasleys that they needed to get back to their common room. Her eyes flickered to the timepiece that was hung over the wall just a few feet away, and sure enough, he was correct. They had four minutes before curfew, and though her dormitory was a short distance away, there was no way they could make it back to theirs in time.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, both to the boys and to Professor Snape as they stood.

She adjusted her house robes, pulling them closer at the slight chill in the air.

“Points deducted already,” George hissed beneath his breath, then sent a small wink to Alyssa, letting her know they were’t mad at her.

She smiled back.

“Not yet, Mr. Weasley. You have precisely two minutes to make it to your dormitory. I will escort Miss Hellstrand back. I’d advise you to not be out by the time I make it to Gryffindor,” Snape snarled.

She was surprised they weren’t getting punished, but she supposed it was fair considering they still had a bit of time.

The boys grinned at each other. “Wicked,” they said simultaneously before sprinting down the stairs.

She smiled hesitantly up at Snape, just a light grin in appreciation. He didn’t return it, just stared at her for a moment.

“I didn’t see any signs of tampering in your mind outside of the dementors grasp. Though there were things you seemed to be hiding,” he informed her, having apparently overheard her conversation.

She paled and shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to hide that…just,” she paused, inhaling sharply, “just what he did. I didn’t want to see it again.”

“The Headmaster will want to speak you with you tomorrow. I suggest you inform him of your concerns. It might be prudent to begin lessons on Occlumency if there’s any truth to your fears.”

She bowed her head in understanding, watching him turn sharply and motion for her to follow. She trailed along behind him, keeping up with his impressive gait even if it felt a bit brisk.

“Is that even possible, professor? For him to…get inside my mind when he’s not even here?”

He glanced over at her, his eyes mapping her perplexed features briefly before he offered a curt inclination of his head.

“It takes practice, but yes, Miss Hellstrand, it is possible.”

She breathed in and fought the urge to cry, the urge to scream. So she wasn’t safe at Hogwarts. At least her mind wasn’t. She was too emotional to ask anymore questions so she stayed quiet. Snape could sense the tension rising up in her. It was obvious that she was terrified, and though he cared little for his students’ fragile, hormonal, emotional states, her case was different. He knew enough about Abigor Hellstrand, a former death eater, to know that he was a man of very little virtue, and the brief glimpses he saw into her mind only verified that. What he had experienced as a child paled in comparison to what she had endured.

“The castle is not an impenetrable force…but it would be a nearly impossible feat for him to weasel his way in undetected. You should be safe so long as you do not leave the grounds,” he told her.

She glanced to him, a small sliver of relief coiling tendrils into her mind and chest. Her stomach settled slightly, and even moreso when they reached the entrance to the Ravenclaw dormitories. Her eyes darted nervously at Snape at she reached for the eagle knocker. She would be asked a riddle, and if she didn’t get it right, she wouldn’t be able to enter until someone else gets it correct. She stamped the heavy knocker against the wood and leaned back as it animated itself, rising outward to look at her.

“What gets broken without being held?” It’s scratchy voice asked.

She looked down at her shoes, thinking. Her mind was spinning with about a million different answers, but the more she thought about it, the more obvious the answer became. Part of the difficulty she experience with these riddles was that she was always thinking too hard on it.

She was still concerned about her father’s ability to get in her head and possibly discover the answers necessary to get into the common room. What if this was the question he was asked if he got into the castle and tried to get to her while she was sleeping?

Shakily she said, “A promise.”

“Enter,” the eagle retorted, going back to the inanimate object as the door crawled open, creaking on its hinges.

She stepped in and then turned back to Snape.

“Goodnight, professor,” she said gently.

He tilted his head and flicked his eyes down in acknowledgement before spinning around, sending his cloaks flying and then darting back against him as he glided away. She shut the door with a sigh.


	4. A Lesson in Occlumency

She sat with the Gryffindors at breakfast the next day. Fred and George were having an animated discussion with Lee Jordan about using their crackling gum drops for bubble-blowing, and the conversation had quickly taken a sharp turn into other uses for it. She fell away from the conversation rather quickly and found herself gravitating towards the golden trio. She scooted down a ways to sit with them, intrigued by their conversation about Sirius Black. Harry was rightfully upset, confused by the dementors and rather frustrated that there seemed to be nothing anyone could do except wait. 

“Has Dumbledore spoken to you?” Harry inquired, glancing over. 

She shook her head. “Not yet. We’re supposed to meet today.” 

“He caught me on my way here this morning. He said Black was spotted a few towns over,” Harry said quietly. 

Her eyes widened and a trickle of fear slithered down her spine. 

“Is he certain?” 

“There were photos—going to be in the prophet tomorrow,” he retorted. 

Her eyes fell to the empty plate in front of her. She hadn’t made a plate at her seat with the twins, and no she certainly didn’t ave the appetite. 

“Did he say anything about Abigor?” 

Ron seemed surprised to hear her refer to her father by his given name. She’d never really talked much about him, but it seemed strange for her to be calling him Abigor.

Harry shook his head, “Don’t know. I asked, but he said he’d talk to you first.” 

Her head inclined and she glanced up at the head table where the Headmaster was seated, having a quiet conversation with Professor McGonagall. His eyes flashed to hers after a few seconds of her observation, and she stilled. He nodded his head once, and that was enough indication to her that they would speak soon. Soon came faster than she thought. Fifteen minutes before breakfast was dismissed, Dumbledore walked down the aisle to collect her. She stood and gathered her belongings, following behind him wordlessly as the trio reengaged in conversation about the escaped prisoner. 

When they reached Dumbledore’s office, he offered her a cup of tea. She took it only because she hadn’t had the stomach for much else. It reeked of chamomile, one of her least favorite blends, but she sipped on it all the same. 

“Harry said Sirius Black was spotted,” she commented gently, half-expecting him to reprimand her. 

His eyes met hers in silent resignation. “He was. I expect he’ll be here soon, attempting to infiltrate the castle.” 

She drew a sharp breath. “And Abigor?” 

“I have not heard anything on him. It appears he is in hiding for now.” 

She knew better. That image was engrained so intricately on her eyelids that she saw it even in her sleep. 

“Professor Lupin told me what happened on the train. I apologize for the dementors; they were never meant to have such ease of access.” 

Her bottom lip was pressed between her teeth, just enough pressure to keep it from slipping out. She too a hesitant sip of her tea and shrugged. He stirred in a few sugar cubes in his. 

“I know it wasn’t your intention or your doing—I can’t fault you for that.” 

“He said you were having difficulties breathing so he apparated you to Hogsmeade.” 

She drew her hands close, clutching the mug tightly in her cold hands. She didn’t fancy speaking about that. 

“Professor Snape said that he followed Remus’ patronus and found you. He helped?” 

Hesitantly, she nodded, drawing a deep breath in before gulping her floral tea nervously. 

“Professor Lupin meant well. He didn’t know about my…problems, so he was sort of making it worse. Professor Snape informed him and helped me sort back through my thoughts and memories. I was just severely disoriented.” 

It was vague but it was enough to make him realize she didn’t want to revisit it. 

“And do you feel better?” 

She opened her mouth, and he set his mug down to feed Fawkes a piece of something she couldn’t discern.

“No,” she admitted softly. “I was—when the dementor was in my head, I felt nauseous. There was a darkness and it was icy and I—I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t the dementor that frightened me though. There were images in my mind, of him, that weren’t there before. Recent ones.” 

He paused, allowing her a moment of silent comfort and understanding. He knew this would be hard for her. 

“Are you certain they weren’t from before the trial? Perhaps, memories you’d long forgotten?” 

“He was older,” she insisted, trembling slightly from the chill that wriggled up her spine. Revulsion. “His hair was graying, like he’d aged terribly fast, and he was thin and gaunt as if he hadn’t eaten in months. He was different—sick, maybe.” 

Dumbledore set his tea down and examined her for a moment. “May I?” 

He waved at his pensieve, and she watched as it slide out from the wall. She was familiar with the object. She’d been made to use it, or one like it, during the trial so she wouldn’t have to verbally recount her story. She’d allowed only bits and pieces of her memory to be revealed then, enough so they had evidence against him, but nothing that impinged too greatly on her privacy.

She stood up shakily and drew her wand from the inside pocket of her robe. The spell tugged the memory from her mind like wispy tendrils of threaded silk, and as her wand lowered to the shallow pool of water, it flowed down with it to rest over the surface. Her feet moved slowly, granting Dumbledore the space to view it as her mind brought up the memory to watch simultaneously. 

Dumbledore’s head dipped into the pensive, and distractedly she glanced around at the portraits. Former headmasters regarded her with mild concern. Other portraits of former master of magical disciplines leaned in to examine Dumbledore’s conclusion. He emerged shortly thereafter and regarded her coolly for a moment, his features straight and composed. What she found most frightening was the disappearance of the twinkle in his eyes. For a split second, she worried she had shared the wrong memory, but then he was nodding his head and turning to face a portrait of a man dressed in dark green—Slytherin robes. 

“Tell Severus that I wish for him to begin her training this afternoon, before and after dinner.” 

The man shot her worried glance and then glided away from the portrait to deliver the message. 

“Training?” she cautioned. 

He bowed his head in thought. 

“It is as you thought. Somehow, perhaps in your sleep or when your mind was preoccupied, he managed to slip in undetected. He left nothing but his image behind, and—legillimency and occlumency are both extraordinarily difficult skills to master. To possess such abilities and be able to do them from afar, one must dabble in the darkest of arts.” 

She swallowed,” Of that I have no doubt. He always enjoyed experimenting with the dark arts.” 

There was a tremor in her voice, and she did her best to ignore it. 

“There is no wizard more gifted than Professor Snape in the art in of legillimens. At least none who perform it correctly. You will begin lessons with tonight on occlumency. The better you become at being able to ward your mind and keep others out, the safer you are from your…from Abigor.” 

“Okay,” she said softly. 

“You should get to class, else you’ll be late. I’m sure Severus will inform you after Potions when you are to report to him.” 

____

She spent the rest of her morning running the past few weeks on repeat in her mind. Every interaction, every remembered dream, every lull in her thoughts—nothing revealed itself to her. In Muggle Studies, Fred sat next to her, having noticed that something wasn’t quite right. She hardly took notes, and even though it was a review, she was nearly as studious as Hermione. 

“Want to talk about it?” he inquired, moving to walk alongside her left while George looped around to the other side. 

She always felt safer when’s he was in between them. Somehow it made her feel like no one could touch her—except in her mind it seemed. She glanced down at her nails, the cream polish Hermione had lent her was chipping and she hadn’t had the patience to redo them or remove it. 

“Not particularly, but thank you.” 

He shrugged and the twins guided her to Potions. She took a deep breath and slid down into her chair at the desk she’d always claimed when in Professor Snape’s classroom. She liked to be near the front, closer to the teachers and further from the door where, if someone came in, they could easily reach her. In Snape’s classroom, she often chose the desk nearest to the front, opposite to the side where his was so that they were diagonal. Fred and George occupied the desks behind her. 

“Are you sure, kid?” George inquired, and she nodded quickly, dismissing the thought. 

“Yes, I’m just tired. My brain won’t shut off,” she said with a small smile. 

The door slamming at the back of the classroom was a familiar and comforting sound, strange as it was. It reminded her that she was still at Hogwarts, still in Potions with Professor Snape, and still far away from her father, at least for the time being. She was finally able to focus on a lesson, for once out of all her classes that day. Perhaps it was because Snape’s voice was soothing to her with its deep, drawling staccato, or maybe it was because she knew he was going to help guard her mind. She wasn’t quite sure, but when class came to an end, he called her to attention. 

“Miss Hellstrand, a moment.” 

She packed her belongings away slowly while everyone else filed out, Fred and George included. Another Gryffindor student had asked them about their sneezing draught and they were instantly enraptured. 

“Sir,” she said gently, moving to stand before his desk where he sat. 

“Your last class of the day is Arithmancy, correct?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Come to my office when you’ve finished.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

“Miss Hellstrand,” he said, hesitating. 

She paused, waiting patiently for his next words. 

“We will begin your lessons this afternoon, as I’m sure the Headmaster has told you. Prepare yourself. There may be things that you wish for me to not see; let that fuel your concentration and determination.” 


End file.
